Knight Triumphant

by Heather Graham

  “They deserted them to slow us down,” Jamie told Eric, as they sat on their horses, having divided their numbers.

  “Partially,” Eric agreed. “And partially to get themselves off the road before we could catch them. They were hampered by the litters they bore, and they knew that we would be riding unencumbered.”

  “They will have reached Cheffington long before we are able to do so,” Angus said. He looked at Eric, sympathy in his eyes. “And once they are behind the walls . . .”

  “Once they are behind the walls,” Eric said. “We are ever more challenged to use our wits against them.”

  “Cheffington is built of stone, and the walls are ten to twenty feet thick,” Angus reminded him.

  “Angus, we can’t ride through stone, no matter how thick,” Eric said. “There is only one way to make a fortress like Cheffington fall, and it’s a tactic with which we should all be familiar.”

  “And that is?” Jamie inquired, but looking at Eric he said softly, “When Nigel Bruce held Kildrummy castle, he had the strength and supplies to withstand a very long siege. But they were betrayed from within by the blacksmith who set fire to the stores of corn, and created an inferno, allowing the invaders in, and forcing the surrender.”

  “Aye,” Eric said.

  “We bring them down from within.”

  Angus watched them both. “So . . . we must find a traitor among their ranks,” Angus mused. Then he grinned. “A traitor, or a host of loyal Scotsmen, afraid of Edward’s power, but ready to cast their lot with a victorious force of their own countrymen. And . . . there may be many of them.”

  “Exactly, Angus,” Eric said. “Exactly.”

  Jamie was still watching him. “It is an ambitious undertaking,” he said. “Many men might see pure futility in it. And others might see certain death.”

  “No man needs ride with me, if he fears I ask too much,” Eric said.

  Jamie shrugged. “I have little else to do, except fight for country, in whatever fool way we find. But I am glad that you intend to force no man on such an errand. Especially when Edward’s troops will soon amass, and our duty by right will be to find Robert Bruce’s position, and defend him to the last.”

  “I know that time is crucial,” Eric said. “In many ways.”

  “Crucial, but still, you’re going to have to give the men rest somewhere soon along the way,” Jamie pointed out. “And as eager as you are to reach Igrainia, we can’t walk through stone walls. We must come to a halt until we’ve figured out how we’re going to get the castle to crumble from within.”

  He read the tempest in Eric’s eyes.

  “You must remember, Igrainia is with her brother, and he is young, and unproven—but he is an earl,” Jamie said.

  “He was injured.”

  “But not so severely—he was not among the wounded. Therefore, he can ride. Which surely means that he is fully conscious, and able to speak his mind regarding his sister. He is a peer of England, Eric, and can protect her.”

  “It is just that I have been a prisoner of Sir Niles Mason, and I know how he treats those he despises—those he considers traitors. And I have come face to face with Robert Neville, a man eager for the butchery of “prescribed” execution. I have seldom seem a man so eager for power and glory.”

  “It still remains that Igrainia is the daughter of a respected earl, though he may be deceased. And once again, she is in her brother’s care.”

  Eric nodded, and turned Loki. Angus and Jamie followed as they trotted back to the main body of men, waiting for their next command.

  Eric announced that no man was obliged to follow him further, and he waited. No one left the ranks. Then he said, “We’ll ride another hour tonight, make camp, and continue in the morning.”

  “If any man can get us into Cheffington, Eric, it is you!” Timothy shouted. “And I will follow you to hell and back, if you ask it of me.”

  A round of agreement rose.

  “Let us hope we will not have to go so far,” Eric said dryly.

  He saw that Gregory was watching him in silence. As he returned the boy’s grave stare, Gregory lifted his hand, and pointed northward.

  Eric turned his warhorse, and led the way in the darkness.

  The door burst open. Despite his youth, Aidan made an imposing appearance. He was already very tall. Still slender, but well muscled. His eyes were the deep blue, almost violet color of her own, and as he burst into her room, they appeared almost black with indignation.

  Robert Neville had disentangled himself from Igrainia the instant he had heard the door moving.

  “She is so deeply distraught!” he said, as if greatly pained and hurt.

  “Distraught! Robert Neville came into this room while I was sleeping, and intended rape!” she said furiously.

  “Igrainia! Never would I lift a hand in force or violence to you!” Robert protested. But his tone changed slightly as he looked at Aidan. “Though she is to be my wife, and will be so, by the will and power of King Edward, she has been among those highland wild men far too long. I’m afraid she is suffering from it . . . in her mind.”

  She had never known, or even suspected, that Robert Neville could be such an excellent actor. He stood behind her straight and dignified, and spoke as if he cared for her with the greatest tenderness in all the world.

  She saw a flicker in Aidan’s eyes, as if he doubted her word, and believed that under the circumstances, Robert could certainly be right.

  “She may be in need of constant care and . . . observance,” Robert said.

  “I am not in need of anything, except a night’s sleep!” she snapped. She stared at Aidan. “I was married by a priest, Aidan. And I swear to you, this man risks his immortal soul and mine. I beg you, as my brother and head of my family, to protect me.”

  “There is nothing she needs protection from!” Robert said, as if he were offended to the core that she could even imply any wrongdoing on his part.

  Aidan spoke slowly and carefully. “Robert, I believe my sister is upset tonight; it has been a long and trying ride. Have patience. There are matters which must be brought before King Edward and the Church. As she may well be extremely distraught, I will watch over my sister tonight.”

  “Naturally, as you say, Lord Abelard.”

  He walked by Aidan, accepting his logic, but Igrainia saw his face as he passed her. She turned after him, ready to close the door as soon as she could after his departure.

  He caught the door before she could press it closed against him and spoke softly, for her alone to hear. “Take great care, Igrainia. You will be my wife, and then you can scream until your throat closes, and there will be no one to help you. I will not forget your betrayal of Afton, or me.”

  She forced the door closed and turned, leaning against it, meeting her brother’s troubled stare.

  “Sir Robert surely came to talk to you, and ease your mind after all that has happened,” he told her. “Igrainia, you know that the king has promised you to him. You will be his wife.”

  “Aidan, I screamed for you because he was attacking me!”

  “Are you certain that he wasn’t just trying to com—”

  “Yes, I’m certain!”

  He turned and walked toward the hearth near the bed. “I had thought that it would be the most natural thing in the world for you. He is Afton’s kinsman. He would regain Langley for the king, and for you. The home you had come to know would still be your own.”

  “He was Afton’s kinsman, yes, and as such, I cared for him. I did not realize until this occurred just how covetous he was of Afton, and all that was his.”

  “You’re against the marriage?”

  “Aidan, I am married!” she insisted quietly.

  “But King Edward can and will see such a marriage annulled.”

  She wasn’t sure that she wanted her brother to know just yet that she didn’t want her marriage annulled.

  “Aidan, I don’t want to marry Robert Neville.”<
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  He lifted a hand in a gesture of futility. “Igrainia, you’re well aware of the working of the world. It was arranged that you should marry Afton.”

  “Once again, I am already married.”

  “You were forced into an unholy alliance.”

  “Aidan, we may have been on opposite sides, but you’re mistaken if you believe that I was cruelly used in any way. Eric is not a heathen, a wild man, or a barbarian. I have seen him be far more just than any of the English invaders in Scotland.”

  Aidan turned away from her, studying the flames. She walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Aidan—”

  He turned and studied her eyes, still troubled. “I wish that Father were still alive.”

  “But he isn’t, Aidan. You are the earl now.”

  “An earl . . . and yet too often, these men think they can treat me as a boy. And the king thinks that I am his to mold. Igrainia, I don’t know what to believe, or even what to say to you. King Edward considers you his ward to bestow as he sees fit. He has said that he will act as a father for you, since your own dear parent is dead and gone. I don’t think that Edward even imagines that you might protest Robert Neville as a choice; and, as I did, he probably assumes that Robert Neville is already your friend, and would fill the void of the lord of Langley and husband to you better than any other man. But frankly, I don’t think he’ll care what your feelings are about the matter. Perhaps you had better reconcile yourself to Neville.”

  “All right, Aidan, all I ask is this—until the matter is solved, I beg of you, and this you can demand as my brother—keep him out of my bedroom.”

  He smiled at her, a slightly wicked smile that reminded her both of his youth, and of the wisdom he was rapidly gaining. “I’m here, aren’t I? And Neville is out.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Aidan.”

  He was taller than she by several inches, and already, his physical stature demanded a certain respect. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep. I won’t leave you. I’ll be in the chair through the night.”

  “Bless you, brother!” she told him. He took the chair by the fire, watching the flames. Igrainia crawled back into the bed, grateful to feel so safe.

  But before she could drift into sleep, she said, “Aidan, I swear to you. Eric is a uniquely honorable man. He has never hurt me, and would not do so.”

  She thought that Aidan hadn’t heard her, or that he simply didn’t have a reply, but after a moment he turned to her. “I suppose that I must believe that.”

  “Why?” she asked, his tone causing her to lift her head from the pillow.

  “We met, in the woods.”

  “What?”

  “We had a glorious assault planned. We even had word that there would be men staked out to ambush us, and we knew where they were supposed to be waiting. They found out that the information had slipped, and they ambushed us before we even neared Langley. We were fighting . . . and I wound up in combat with him. My sword was broken. He could have taken my head, then and there. But he recognized the Abelard crest and knew I was your brother. And he walked away.”

  Igrainia lay her head back on her pillow. She was in incredible danger here, and it appeared that there was little help for her. Even if Aidan understood her feelings and sympathized with them, even though Eric had spared him on the battlefield, he had just admitted he didn’t have the power to stop the king from commanding what would and would not happen in her life.

  At this moment, she refused to let fear and desolation grip her heart. Eric had met Aidan in hand-to-hand combat. He could have killed him.

  He had not done so. He had walked away.

  She closed her eyes. She was desperate for sleep, and she would sleep. And there was a way out of every prison.

  She would find the way out of this one.

  Cheffington had been a fortress in the days of Roman rule when, in conquering Britain, the Romans had decided that they conquered far enough. There was little beyond but hills, rugged mountains, and savages. They had contended that such fierce and murderous men were not really worthy of Roman effort, and so in coming north, they had built walls against the dangerous hordes to the north and forts built of wood on high mounds to protect the men they sent to the outreaches of their domain. When the Normans had conquered England, they had begun to build in stone, and when King David, raised at the English court, had come to claim Scotland, he had seen such natural defenses, and turned them into high fortresses of stone.

  But whereas Langley was surrounded by the additional protection of a moat, Cheffington had none. The inner yard, the land between the defense walls and the tower, was far larger; and the castle was more of a sprawling center of commerce, with wagons going in and out on a frequent basis. The outer walls, if attacked by an army with heavy equipment and many men, were not so well constructed for a lasting defense.

  But Eric hadn’t a large force of men, and no siege machines.

  They camped in the surrounding forest, and spent a day watching the comings and goings, and the activity within the courtyard. They watched the positioning and the rounds taken by the guards, and they watched the common men and women, working in the fields beyond the walls, carrying in supplies, going about the daily business in the castle. Masons worked to repair places in the stone and structure where time had taken a toll.

  They purchased a wagon from a farmer, and Jamie and Jarrett, never having been seen by any of Niles Mason’s men or at Langley, drove through the open gates on the pretense of trying to sell hay. They spent the day circling the public areas of Cheffington, hawking their hay, and watching. They returned and reported what they had seen—the many people engaged in business within the walls, the blacksmiths, weavers, laundresses, dyers, and more as they moved about in the courtyard. Eric found himself most interested in Jamie’s information regarding a group of players who came, setting up a stage and a puppet show in the courtyard. As far as Jamie and Thayer could tell, the poor band of entertainers certainly appeared to come and go at will. They spoke with the guards, teased and mocked them, did cartwheels and other acrobatics until they could gain a few coins from those men as well as what they were able to receive from those who watched their shows.

  Thayer went back the following day with Timothy and Brandon. They wore rough wool cloaks and again, hawked hay throughout the afternoon.

  The guards were on the lookout, but they were watching for armed outlaws, ready to descend upon them. No one gave a second glance to poor farmers selling their excess hay for whatever they could earn.

  They spoke long that night, drawing diagrams in the dirt with the layout of the inner castle and walled town. Jamie talked earnestly about the people with whom he had talked. He was convinced that most of them, terrified of the English rulers, would turn their backs and offer no resistance if “outlaw” troops descended upon the English guard.

  Gregory and Rowenna sat in on the discussions. Later, at night, when Eric lay alone, his mind still working in a constant flow of strategy, Rowenna came to him, sitting by his side.

  He glanced her way.

  “What does Gregory ‘see’?” he asked her.

  “Images do not come to his mind at will; only God really knows the future, and there are those who would debate that, since He has given man free will,” Rowenna said.

  “Ah.”

  “But he believes in the Lady Igrainia,” she told him. “He wants you to know that she is strong, and clever, and that she can fight her own battles very well.”

  “Um. Well, I believe that,” he murmured. Then he asked her, “And what of the fact that she is with the English? She is, after all, one of them.”

  Rowenna nodded. “Yes, she is English. But Gregory doesn’t believe that she deserted Langley, rather that she loved her brother.”

  “I’m trying to believe that as well,” he told Rowenna.

  She sat silent for a moment. Then quietly, she left him.

  When m
orning came, Eric determined that it was time for him to enter Cheffington as well, hidden in the hay in the back of the wagon. He had to be careful, since both Niles Mason and Robert Neville knew his face. The robes of a friar stood him well, and he took his own assessment of the strength within the castle.

  He watched the entertainers, spoke with the acrobats, and seamstresses.

  Throughout the day, he noted the guards—where they met, where they stored their weapons, where they slept, how many were on patrol.

  He saw Igrainia.

  She was at some distance from him, on the arm of an older, silver-haired knight. Lord Danby, certainly, as the fellow was, deferred to by every man and woman who came close to him. Igrainia was dressed in fine garments, and she talked earnestly with him, smiled frequently, and seemed content and at ease.

  He watched her with both relief and anger. Had she been forced to flee? Or was it that she perhaps considered herself free at last, among her people, the English?

  He longed to run across the courtyard, seize her, and shake her. He fought the temptation.

  A sudden flurry of activity behind the drape drawn by the entertainers caught Eric’s attention. He hurried there, drawing the curtain, to find that one of the guards had seized upon Jamie, and was making demands regarding his business at the castle.

  He held Jamie by the cloth of his shirt at his throat. Against the pulsing blue vein that ticked just above the man’s hold, the guard pressed the blade of his knife. That Jamie could defend himself, Eric knew.

  That he could do so now without creating a commotion, he wasn’t at all certain.

  Eric walked quickly behind the man and seized him around the neck from behind. The fellow struggled; he tightened his hold. Eventually, he fell.

  Jamie stared at Eric, and exhaled. “Very good timing, Eric,” he said. “But we can’t leave the body here.”

  “No,” Eric said thoughtfully, “we can’t.”

  “Fine sword he has at his side.”

  “Indeed. We can make use of it.”

  “Eric, I have befriended one of the seamstresses here. The lass came to me, talking, perhaps saying more than she should. She introduced me to her father the tall, big-necked fellow there. He is the leader of the entertainers. We can cover the body here, for now, and set it in the wagon when they’re breaking down.”